Vaulted Cheryl

As I slowly unbuttoned her blouse I was wondering where her brassiere went. The blouse was a sheer plain white button down. With Cheryl’s endowments, ornamentation, and pigmentation placement I can’t imagine that I was so busy to have not paused a moment to breathe in that view as we transacted commerce during business hours. With a translucent covering such as this, I know I would have spotted her brown nipples clearly through the fabric. Certainly the steely piercings would have shown.  While those twin beauties were restrained earlier, they were surely apparent and  attention grabbing now.

 

She undid the button on her jeans and slowly relieved the zipper of its burden. She then pivoted, bent over, and steadied herself on a stack of ten can film element cartons. Her fingertips just holding on to the box edges as she bent over offering her blue jeaned behind with arched feline back swaying action. I rolled  her jeans and panties over, down, and revealed her firm curvy behind.  Cheryl’s thighs were together to assist the jeans descent of her legs. Even so the gap between held her shimmering dewy jewel already wet and aquiver.  The time I spent freeing her jeans from her high heels was rewarded with Cheryl spreading her legs wide. As I rose to meet my just desserts my nose initially cleaved while my tongue followed into that tasty glittering Gulch meeting Cheryl’s shimmering clitorous halfway as she rose on high heeled toes to welcome my tongues agile attack.

 

She flayed her arms clearing a space which she quickly filled on her back and spread her long legs above the looming  boxes of film. The sound of clattering film cans on the cement floor, hopefully full of positive production elements rather that O.C.N. crashed about almost as noisily as her grunts and prurient demands. I looked down to survey her full five foot ten inch frame. Her nipple piercing shimmered back at me offset atop large rich brown perfect circle nipples erect and ready for the moment. My previous feast slayed and ripe for the plucking.

 

I mounted her there atop the brown cardboard boxes. Our lips met. Her bare breasts met my hairy chest through my parted shirt which I had unbuttoned for just this purpose. Each thrust into her pushed deeper into  the box below until it caved and her wanton hot behind found cold metal film can below.

 

So while her can may have been meeting cold metal all I felt was her nails raking across my back, my cock sinking in her deep warm wet writhing satin pillow with each thrust, and the knowledge that I would never look at this film vault in the same way again.

 

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About Pete Symes

Purveyor of paralogical compliance to verbally mediated reality and artisanal smut

Posted on January 18, 2017, in adult, erotic, relationships, smut and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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